Writing and Me

A brief history of me and my relationship with the craft of writing.

I may not know a lot of things, but I am pretty sure most people on this site have a history with writing. History meaning a years of writing, trying to hone ones craft and of course working on that novel. I know all those because as writer it describes me to a t. I started my writing journey at nine with a shorty horror story. A genre to this day I still love to write and will until I can't anymore. Shortly after I started writing poetry. I had barely any knowledge of poetry. At this time I didn't know anything rhyming schemes, structures, or the different types of poetry. All I did know was the fact I had an urge to create. A need to express my thoughts and feelings with words on paper. I did not know where this spark came from, but its tiny ember although at times faded never completely dies. So I wrote and wrote and even when my fingers aches wrote even more. I was pretty shy about my writing and a few people read it. They encouraged my writing and I inspired to be a writer.

There was a couple of complications that did hinder me. For one my spelling was atrocious. I had a pretty good vocabulary, but correctly spelling those words was quite tricky. I did not understand that having a slight speech issue was partly to blame. I actually pronounce some words wrong and in doing so spell them how I say them. The second is grammar. Is it ironic for one who loves writing has such a difficult time understand the basic functions of it. I have taken multiple classes and have tried to learn over and over. I can at least now understand what a verb, noun and adjective is. The more complex aspects are still a mystery to me although to some these are not anything difficult but simple concepts. So I struggled with run on sentences and writing myself into so many corners. I still wanted to be a writer, but I struggled to get the more complex ideas on down. The worst part is what I wrote never seemed to live up to what was in my head and it certainly failed at sharing what was in my heart.

I did what I could and practiced, but life has a way of creating road blocks. I can't completely blame life since at times I didn't put the effort or time to write. So my pen and paper were placed down and I stopped writing. What was the point when no one would read what I was writing? Even worse was the feeling what I was writing wasn't even worth reading. The struggle of feeling like every word I penned was an utter and complete failure. I had a few opportunities to share my writing and to be honest they felt like halfhearted attempts that fell flat. I thought next time I'll do better. Next time I will show what I can do. What if there is no next time? It's not like I'm immortal. Eventually I'll be gone and what do I have do show for it? I will have some things I will be remembered for but my legacy is written word seems to lack any substance. A history of of mediocre short stories, some decent poetry and that novel I plan on writing some day.

So that leads me to here. Being on writing.com and once again writing. I will write and even if its flawed or doesn't live up to what is in my head I will continue. Even if no one reads it I will write. The spark that ignited my passion for writing didn't die it just got smaller but the ember can once again turn into a flame. No matter what I was made to create and that is what I'll do and if you felt a connection to anything I wrote then at least I have that.